What the British public really think about ‘controversial’ stand-up comedy
On Jimmy Carr’s recent Netflix comedy special, His Dark Material, he made a highly unsavoury joke that threw the media into a tailspin. Referring to the Holocaust, Carr said: “They never mention the thousands of gypsies that were killed by the Nazis... No one ever wants to talk about the positives.” There have since been complaints from all sides, including exhortations to apologise, placard-waving protests at his shows, and high-level interventions. Sajid Javid, the Health Secretary, branded the joke “horrid”, and urged the public to boycott Carr’s work.
But what about that public? Controversies rage about comedy material, particularly in our social media age. But, as we know, this is a very vocal minority. The opinions of those who actually pay to see live comedy remain hidden from view. With that in mind, Telegraph critics, myself included, spent three days visiting towns and gigs around England, talking to audience members.
These included Carr’s new touring vehicle, Terribly Funny; a set by Roy “Chubby” Brown, the 77-year-old Yorkshireman with a reputation for material far more un-PC even than Carr’s; and Missus, a maritally themed show from the genially waspish UK-based Canadian-Irish comedian Katherine Ryan, which packed out the De Montfort Hall in Leicester as part of the city’s annual comedy festival. For good measure, I also travelled to Swindon, where Jenny Eclair was regaling her fans with a quick-paced show about advancing to infirmity: Sixty! (FFS!)
What emerged from our conversations was that the public effectively has Carr’s back. The average person in the street is more supportive of comic risk-taking and nuanced in their grasp of the issues around offensive material than those swiftest to rail at the comedian from media pulpits or governmental perches.
Most of those we consulted didn’t display a compendious knowledge of comedy. Personal preferences ranged widely, from an interest in up-and-comers, through household names including Micky Flanagan and Peter Kay, to fondly remembered stars such as Dave Allen. Individual tastes were in part reflected by the shows that people attended. For example, Sandra, a retired resident of Chippenham, Wiltshire, watching Éclair’s show, confided: “I can’t stand young [men] who tell jokes about politics and crude sex. They’re not going to talk about the menopause in a meaningful way, are they? I much prefer female comedians.”
Common to nearly all those to whom we spoke was a sophisticated appreciation of comedy’s core principles: the remit to stir mood-boosting laughter and the value of free speech.
At Carr’s gig at Cheltenham on Saturday night, the offending joke wasn’t aired, although much of an off-colour ilk was. Shelley, a 32-year-old local and Carr gig habitué, offered faint praise and yet solid support. “It’s one of his weakest jokes. Out of context, [it’s] deeply offensive and normalises genocide. But in the context of the show, where he was making a series of jokes to attempt to see which one tipped the boundaries, he proved his point.” To fail to consider the context, she argued, was like attending Hamilton, a famously multi-racial musical about the life of an American “Founding Father”, and complaining that such representation was historically inaccurate.
The same night, at the Roy “Chubby” Brown gig in Congleton, the comedian actually recycled Carr’s offending joke, then tacked on his own offensive segue: “The one people you don’t pick on is the gypsies. The show was called His Dark Material because they’re going to come round his house and black his eyes.” By any sober reckoning, that’s a weak, lazy, stereotyping joke – and pouring petrol on the fire of controversy, were anyone minded to notice the flare-up. But his fans offered earthy rationales.
“We know it’s a laugh and a joke,” said Richard Gough, 52, from nearby Macclesfield. “At the end of the day, it does what it says on the tin. He also made a joke about being there when the Queen had her first period. Well, we all love the Queen. If you’re easily offended – stay away.” These sentiments were echoed by Simon Fuller, 60, from Wilmslow in Cheshire. “If you’re in a pub, you wouldn’t be offensive to someone – you’ve got to be polite and treat people nicely. When you’re on stage, that’s different. Nothing should be off-limits.”
Even though it’s broadly accepted that there must be limits of some kind – there can’t just be wilful, incendiary offence-giving – the kind of support suggested in those two comments reflects a sense of the social benefit of allowing live comedy to be a space that’s relatively unpoliced. Though Brown is nowadays held as beyond the pale by some in officialdom – Sheffield City Trust blocked one of his gigs at the city hall last autumn – his supporters’ view of comedy as a sanctioned outlet for impermissible thoughts aren’t miles from those of the audience members at the shows I saw in Leicester.
Katherine Ryan arguably attracts more women than men for her fresh musings on reconciling feminist independence with her decision to get hitched – and Eclair makes a virtue of that imbalance in her audience. Speaking to Amy, a 34-year-old fashion buyer from Leicester, though, a similar line of argument to Brown’s blokey fanbase was heard: “Comedy is the best medium for people speaking their mind. Sometimes it’s people saying things you’re not brave enough to say yourself. That’s why there are controversial comics that people love – they’re saying things people would be afraid to say.”
For her, comedians can be pathfinders, rather than mere outrage-baiters. “We’re in a world where we’re being encouraged to express ourselves better. In general, there’s more freedom for people to express themselves, whether in terms of gender and sexuality. I think comedians can function like a guide as to how to speak your mind and show yourself for who you are.”
Perhaps Brown’s fans, and some of Carr’s too, are prepared to offer carte blanche in ways from which a different crowd, less hungry for combative matter, would resile. Yet at every thoughtful turn among those I encountered, there seemed to be a widespread acceptance that even if some material might not sit comfortably, there was an underlying value to the edgier endeavour.
In Leicester, Mark Pacey, 48, an aerospace engineer living just north of the city, summed up the tricky paradox involved. “I certainly thought that Carr’s joke crossed the line, but at the same time, comedians should be able to push the boundaries. And of course, if they’re trying to go right up to the line, occasionally they’re going to cross it.” In other words, we often find out what society won’t tolerate only when we push it.
In an academic article on “political correctness in comedy” from 1998, by Jane Littlewood and Michael Pickering, I discovered the same understanding expressed off the cuff last weekend: “Any attempt to question the moral proprieties of comedy is doomed to failure for the simple reason that it mistakes the very nature of the comic impulse… Humour and comedy work precisely by subverting moral proprieties, by challenging us to laugh at the seriousness with which we take our own codes, precepts, values and beliefs.”
Comedy on stage works a miraculous alchemy, turning the mundane into matter for mirth, the transgressive into an opportunity to transcend usual patterns of thought. In its freethinking irreverence, it can unlock the doors to self-expression and self-questioning, not groupthink. Not always, of course. But in the rush to judgement, the commentariat have been left looking like fools this week. The public, to judge by our cursory consultation, has shown that it fully grasps the serious point of seeing the funny side.
Additional reporting by Tristram Fane Saunders and Ali Shutler. Leicester Comedy Festival runs until Saturday; info: comedy-festival.co.uk. Jimmy Carr tours until December; info: jimmycarr.com
